And singing, dancing and flashing along, And they opened their blue eyes wider still When they felt the kiss of the laughing rill; And they could not tell which most to loveThe sky in the brook or the one above. And some water-lilies, stately and fair, But the merry brook went dancing by, Till one day, when the sun was warm and bright, Bent over the stream, all light and love, With eyes still bluer than the sky above, And radiant tresses sprinkled with dew, Like a rose-tinted cloud in the ether blue. And what do you think? This beautiful sprite Was the spirit of song from the regions of light; And when summer lay on her rose-curtained bed; The brook and the spirit were solemnly wed. Now, the graceful lilies grew stately and wise, And the beautiful violets drooped their blue eyes, And the sky sometimes looks angry and tried, But the brook still clings to its phantom bride. BEAUTIFUL REST. BEAUTIFUL hands, folded to rest, Folded to sleep on the calm, cold breast; Calm sweet face, so peaceful and fair The angels have smoothed the furrows of care, Folded away! safely folded away! No more to worry with business and care; DOST RECOLLECT IT, JENNIE DEAR? WHEN Summer, like an elfin queen, But not so fair as thou; Dost recollect it, Jennie dear? That we were in a world like this; And love has kept our promise green Through many changing years; Have planted some gray hairs; MY BROTHER. A REMINISCENCE, EIGHTY-FIVE! how strange to see Ah! many a league I've traveled since When hope was painted on the sky, And life was wreathed with flowers. We looked upon the sky and earth, The music of the running brook, And gathered whispers from the winds E EDMUND K. HARRIS. 'DMUND K. HARRIS, brother of Mrs. Mary Ware, was born in Monroe county, Tenn., February 16, 1830. The earliest years of this gifted writer were spent amid his native mountains, breathing Nature's omnipotence in the strength of her hills. Thoughtful, studious, literary, diligent in his research for wisdom, his tastes for books and storied authors were the consummation of a father's hopes, whose mind was a reflection of his own. In 1844, removing with his father's family to Shelby county, Ala., he was placed under the tutelage of an eminent foreign-born English scholar, where he made rapid progress, subsequently assuming control of the Shelby Chronicle. Here his ability and accomplishments were so displayed that in 1857, when one of the editors of the Mobile Tribune was summering in the vicinity, he induced Mr. Harris to return with him to become a member of the editorial staff of the Tribune. Mobile was then prosperous, influential, the flower of Alabama cities, and was indeed to the entire South what Venice was to Mediterranean Europe in the fifteenth century. Mr. Harris died April 16, 1859, when his adopted city was gladdened by the garlands and bloom of a tropic spring. His finely wrought nature was spared the soul-harrowing scenes of the Civil War, and at his death rare tributes were prompted to his memory from the illustrious in the world of letters over the South. B. F. K. STANZAS. O LIFE! so dark, so bright, so evanescent, In the dim forest I have roved at even, And, pensive, listened to the birds' sweet lay; O Freedom! blessed spirit, grand and holy, In fond forgetfulness of earth, and sin, Through the deep azure, gleam Ye tranquil stars; there is a magic in Myself; uplifts my struggling soul from this The night is lovely. Far along, where the Lightly the streamers on yon distant hill. Oh! in an hour like this In a spot like this-beside me one dear light, Should all reflect my soul's deep love-it were Not pain, methinks, to meet the angel Death; Passing from heavenly calm on earth to thee, Serenity of endless bliss above. "I STILL LIVE.” THE DYING WORDS OF WEBstrr. STATESMAN, yes! tho' cold and lowly, A living light, intense and holy, Bursts the gloom! A Nation, weeping, Like the morning sun-beams creeping Still he lives. O, yes, forever The light of such a life can never Thoughts immortal, thoughts eternal, His spirit bore; These bloom on earth, like flowers vernal, My Country, in thy darkest hour In his words of strength and power, Hope-Liberty! |